Evolution

They were just clay bowls of animal fat, with bits of juniper twig used as wicks. But they burned steadily, filling the hut with a clear yellow light. He could see now why these huts needed no windows — and his mind raced as he realized that with these lamps it would be possible to have light whenever it was wanted, even in the depths of night, even without a fire.

It was clear that these people were far ahead of his own in toolmaking. But their art was much more limited, although several of them wore strings of the beads he had spotted around the little girl’s neck, beads that turned out to be made of elephant-tusk ivory.

So he wasn’t surprised when the elders were stunned by the array of goods he was able to lay out before them. There were ivory and bone figurines of animals and humans, images, abstract and figurative, carved in relief into shell and bits of sandstone — and one of Mother’s own more extraordinary figures, a creature with the body of a human but the head of a wolf.

It was a reaction he had seen many times before. The art of Mother’s people had advanced hugely in the couple of decades since her own first uncertain fumblings. The people had been ready for it, with their big brains and nimble fingers; all it had taken was for somebody to come up with the idea — just as these river folk’s roomy minds were ready for the art too. It was as if Mother had dropped a grain of dust into a supersaturated solution, and a crystal had immediately formed.

Sapling had no way of communicating with these river folk save for gestures and guessed-at words. But soon the parameters of the discussion were clear. There would be trade: Sapling’s art for these sedentary strangers’ advanced tools and artifacts.

By the time he left to rejoin his hidden companions, about midday the next day, he had a bag full of sample goods. And he had carefully memorized the location of every kiln, every elaborate hearth.

He had done all of this for Mother, as he had carried through so many other similar assignments. But Mother was not here, at his side, sharing the labor and the risks. In his heart he found, somewhat to his surprise, a dark particle of resentment.

Mother sat by the entrance to her shelter. Legs folded under her, hands resting on her knees, her face was in the sun, her back warmed by the remnants of last night’s fire. She was growing old, gaunt, and she seemed to have trouble staying warm. But for now she was comfortable. Oddly satisfied.

Every square centimeter of her skin was covered with tattoos. Even the soles of her feet were adorned with lattice designs. She wore a skin wrap today, as she usually did, so much of her decoration was covered up, but the skin itself was alive with color and motion, leaping animals, darting spears, exploding stars. And on a wooden pillar beside her sat the skull of her long-dead child, stuck back together with a gum made of tree sap.

She watched the people come and go about their daily work. They would glance at her, sometimes nodding respectfully — or else they would turn away hurriedly, avoiding the stare of Mother and her eyeless son — but either way they were deflected, like planets drifting past the gravitational field of some immense black star.

After all, it was Mother who spoke to the dead, Mother who interceded with earth and sky and sun. If not for Mother, the rain would no longer fall, the grass would no longer grow, the animals would stay away. Even sitting here silently she was the most important person in the community.

The latest camp was a riot of color and shape. It was as if Mother had gradually taken the whole of this troop into her head, into her lightning-threaded imagination — and, in a sense, she had. The forms of animals, people, spears, axes — and strange beings that were mixtures of people and animals and trees and weapons — leapt from every surface, from rocks selected for their smooth workability, and from the treated hides that were draped over every shelter. And interlaced with these figurative forms were the abstract shapes that had always marked out Mother’s domain, spirals and starbursts and lattices and zigzags. These symbols were invested with multiple meanings. The image of an eland could represent the animal itself — or people’s knowledge of its behavior — or it could stand for the hunting activity that was required to bring it down, the tool-making, planning, and stalking — or something more subtle yet, the animal’s beauty, or the richness and joy of life itself.